Anthem
by Swing Girl At Heart
Summary: A new assignment from Mr. Schue, and an examination of each character and what they're fighting for.
1. Rachel

**A/N: I know, I know, I should be working on _Expect the Unexpected_. I'm sorry. But I hope you like this anyway.

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_Rachel_

Despite what everyone believes, Rachel's not naturally abrasive. She's forced herself to be. She's not really sure why (she's not a psychologist, after all) but she thinks it's something to do with how much shit she gets for being who she is. She's a talented, beautiful, fashion-handicapped, intelligent, insecure girl who happens to be _very _low on the high school food chain. She can't _help_ enjoying Broadway shows and acting and music and everything to do with stardom – I mean, who _doesn't_ want to be famous? Is it so wrong that she's actually willing to strive for it? Yes, she sometimes makes bad choices. Yes, she's willing to give others a push out of her way. Yes, she likes to talk about herself. But doesn't that make her like _everyone _else?

Which means she _needs_ to stand out.

The thing that makes her different is that she's not willing to believe that fame and wealth and _appreciation_ is just going to fall into her lap. Why is it that everyone is content with being fat and lazy and just goddamn _stupid?_

Tears work into her eyes as she reads the latest batch of comments on her MySpace account:

_You look familiar – were you one of the dwarves in the Narnia movie?_

_You sound like you're giving birth to a rhino._

_You dress like a kindergartener._

_You suck._

_You suck._

_You suck._

Damn it. Now her makeup's running.

She doesn't know how long it is before she finally gets herself to stop staring at her computer screen and go to bed, but it's after dark and her dads have gone to bed and she's _tired_, so she doesn't really care what time it is. She can't sleep, though, and the comments are still in the forefront of her mind.

Okay, the fact is that she doesn't have much of a personality. But that's what being a celebrity _entails_ – you are there for the public, not for yourself. If you're a celebrity, you're there to be photographed, idolized, talked about, fawned over, and you're an image for people. The 'celebrities' who try to maintain some form of self end up doing B-rate movies at best.

She wonders if her desire to be a star is driven only by her need to be noticed as someone different or if she actually has what it takes. God, why does she even want all this?

Suddenly, she wants very much to be in the choir room, where she can be herself and not worry about people judging her. She could sing about her feelings without people telling her she sounds whiny. Okay, Santana probably would tell her that, but she knows the Latina doesn't really mean it because she's stopped commenting on Rachel's videos. And the only time the others tell her she's being annoying is when she actually _is_ being annoying – like when she walked into the classroom with that strip of duct tape across her mouth. That had been a stupid move and she knew it.

She shouldn't have overreacted to losing the lead at Regionals, she understood that now, but it wasn't wrong for her to be upset over it. Right? If people give her all this shit and she doesn't get _anything_? That's normal, isn't it?

The following afternoon in Glee club, she's still feeling kind of down – down enough to get Finn to notice that she's unhappy, anyway – and doesn't talk as much as she usually does. Then Mr. Schue takes his usual spot at the front and announces the new assignment for the week.

"You have to choose a song that describes _you_."

A ripple of groans and mutters of disappointment at such a cheesy assignment passes over the club, and Rachel just takes the assignment in stride with very little reaction, until Mr. Schue adds an addendum.

"And here's the kicker. It has to be from a genre that people would never assume you'd listen to."

A couple of the others murmur in excitement at the new development, and thousands of song titles begin running through Rachel's head, from Broadway, Top 40, Jazz, Pop, and even a few off-beat indie songs. She pays little attention to the rest of the lesson, straining to think of one that would be unusual for her to sing, and soon realizes that she has bragged about every single genre she knows and listens to. Damn it.

At almost ten p.m. that night Rachel still hasn't found a good song. The only progress she's made is that she's realized she's _angry_, so she's researched Green Day, Blue October, AFI, Audioslave, and even some Rammstein (Lord knows she would never sing _that_ without destroying her vocal chords) and none of them seem to fit her. She's beginning to wonder if she should just do one of her regular songs and accept the lower grade when she finally finds the right one.

She falls asleep grinning that night.

* * *

The next day, Rachel volunteers to be the first to perform, and a few people roll their eyes not-so-subtly. She chooses to ignore them and instead whispers the title of her song to the band. Mr. Schue sits on a chair with the rest of the Glee kids as Rachel takes her place and immediately pictures herself standing alone beneath a solitary spotlight on a dark stage (her usual mindset for performances).

She begins to sing.

"_What if I wanted to break?_ _Laugh it all off in your face? What would you do?_"

She sees Mr. Schue raise his eyebrows, pleased at her choice of song though he's never heard it before. She forces herself to remember all the nasty comments people have left on her MySpace videos, and a trace of anger slips into her words.

"_What if I fell to the floor? Couldn't take all this any more? What would you do, do, do?_" She can feel the rage bubbling in her chest as she grows louder, and it feels _great _to release it. She remembers why she wants to be a singer. "_Can't break me down! Bury me, bury me! I am finished with you!_"

A few of the Gleeks look surprised at the ferocity in her voice, but then they shrug it off. After all, Rachel always gives a top-notch performance.

"_What if I wanted to fight? Beg for the rest of my life? What would you do? You say you wanted more – what are you waiting for? I'm not running from you._" At this, she looks directly at Mr. Schue, though she's not entirely sure why. "_Come break me down! Bury me! Bury me! I am finished with you! Look in my eyes! You're killing me, killing me! All I wanted was you!_

She knows there's actually a little bit of screamo at this point of the song, but rather than do that she just raises her voice even louder. A couple people look startled, like they're just realizing she's serious.

"_I tried to be someone else, but nothing seemed to change,_" she practically screams. Truer words had never been sung. "_I know now – this is who I really am inside!_ _Finally found myself, fighting for a chance! I know now – this is who I really am!_ _Oh, oh! Oh, oh!_"

She tries to access the rage that will enable her to fully belt the last few lines. It works. "_Come break me down!_" she challenges them. "_Bury me! Bury me! I am finished with you!_"

And abruptly, she's finished with the song and she's out of breath and tired. It briefly enters her mind that she's never felt so relieved after a performance. She realizes that the rest of the club is _applauding_ and _standing up_ and _smiling at her_.

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**A/N: So, what'd you think? Worth a review?**

**The song was "The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars.  
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	2. Quinn

**A/N: Thanks for the response, guys! Hope you like this one too :)

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_Quinn_

Quinn really hates her house right now. Which is weird, because up until this past year she's always _loved_ it. It had just never felt the same after she came back once Beth was born. She didn't know whether that was because she'd been kicked out and now it was awkward, because she missed her baby, or because her dad was no longer there.

Oh hell, it was all three.

The facts are that Quinn is very smart, very strong, and very beautiful. These three characteristics enable her to automatically survive in the world. But it's times like these that she feels like she really _can't_. She's cleaning the kitchen, just to have something to do, when her mom comes in and is surprised to see her daughter on her knees, scrubbing the bottom shelf in the refrigerator.

"Uh, honey?" Judy ventures.

Quinn jumps, almost banging her head. "Hi, Mom." She rolls back to a sitting position on the kitchen floor.

"What are you doing?"

Quinn looks from her mother to the fridge, and back again. "Uh, cleaning."

Judy tilts her head to the side. "Sweetie, we have a maid."

"…Yeah," Quinn says lamely. She's sort of frozen with an awkward look on her face. How does she explain that she _just wanted to clean?_

"Well, why are you cleaning it?"

"…It was dirty?"

Judy sighs and puts down her coffee cup. "Honey, I'm worried about you."

Quinn drops her sponge and stands up, brushing off her hands on the back of her jeans. "What?" she says.

"I'm just wondering if you're okay."

"I'm fine, Mom."

Judy pauses, studying her daughter for several long moments until Quinn says "What?" again. "Sorry," Judy shakes her head. "I was just thinking…you look so grown up."

Quinn's not sure how to respond to that, so she doesn't.

Her mother sighs again, and changes the subject. "Your father's coming to visit today," she states.

Quinn freezes. "Wait…like, _today_ today?"

Judy nods. "In an hour."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know; he just called me."

Quinn doesn't realize that her mouth is open. She looks shocked. "Why is he coming over?"

"He wants to see you."

Quinn suddenly feels like she needs to be sick. Bile rises in her throat. "This is coming from the man who _threw me out_ last year?" she demands, and her voice shakes a little. It doesn't sound as strong as she wants it to.

"Honey, please try to understand—"

"Mom!" she protests.

"Quinnie… He's your _father_."

"He _hates_ me!"

Judy shakes her head immediately. "No, Quinnie, he – he doesn't. He's just—" She's flustered and takes a breath before she forms a full sentence. "Please, Quinnie. See him just this once and if you want, I can tell him to stay away for good."

Quinn exhales very slowly. She makes her decision. "Fine."

He arrives ten minutes earlier than expected and sits down on their couch like he belongs there. "Place looks nice," he says. Quinn's mom is in the kitchen getting coffee for the three of them.

"Yeah," she replies.

He rubs his hands together, looking around the room. If he notices that all the pictures of him are gone, he doesn't say.

"How's Mary?" she finally asks, her voice flat. She couldn't care less if Mary the Tattooed Freak had been shot in a bank robbery. She hadn't known it was possible, but now the house felt emptier with her dad inside.

"She's doing well," Russell answers. "She ran off to Vegas with her boyfriend two weeks ago."

"Oh." She's glad.

"It's good to be here," he states, like a damn news reporter.

Quinn shifts position.

Russell looks at her and sighs. "I'm sorry, Quinn," he says softly. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you."

For one brief second, Quinn's heart swells at the idea of her father apologizing for what he did. But then that one phrase catches in her throat, and she feels sick again. "Had to?" she chokes out, her eyes already turning red. She looks away.

"Quinnie, you—"

"Don't call me that," she snaps, her gaze whipping up to meet her father's in a perfectly level stare. She wasn't helpless any more. She didn't crave his approval and she didn't need it, either.

He looks _surprised_. "Why not?"

She scoffs. "Don't pretend like you don't know!" she spits, lurching to her feet. She's _pissed_. "_You_ threw me out! _You_ said I was a disappointment!"

"You're not a disappointment—"

"Oh, sure, I'm not one _now_!" she fires back, her hands gesturing wildly. She's never felt this angry before. "Now that I've shoved out the little bastard child! I'll warn you, though, I still have stretch marks."

Russell stands up too, shaking his head. "I never said— Quinnie, you're putting words in my mouth—"

"_No, I'm not!_" she shouts. She doesn't see her mother standing in the kitchen doorway. "What gives you the _right_ to come in here and apologize but say you didn't have a _choice!_"

Russell just stares at her, his mouth straight. She can see he's still trying to talk down to her. But, damn it all, she gave birth to his grandchild _– _she can handle this.

"Quinn—" he starts again.

"You know what?" she cuts him off, her voice finally lowered. "I don't need to listen to you any more. Get out, and don't come back."

* * *

The next day at Glee practice, Mr. Schue calls on Quinn to perform after Rachel. She's still agitated over her dad's visit and she's unsure of her song choice, so she's on the verge of telling Mr. Schue that she didn't do the assignment when she decides _Oh, fuck it_ and gets up to stand in front of the class. Despite how hard it is to deal with Rachel, she knows the girl is talented and she knows that it's going to be hard to top her. But she tries to push her competitive streak aside for now, because she's not really in the mood to care about who does best.

The band begins to play, and she closes her eyes, trying to feel where the words begin. "_Someone told me long ago,_" she sings, her voice rippling quietly over the room. "_There's a calm before the storm – I know. It's been coming for some time._"

A few of the Gleeks nod in approval as they recognize the song. It's pretty well-known and it suits her voice, so that's no surprise.

"_When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day – I know. Shining down like water._" She sways a little bit in time with the music. "_I want to know – have you ever seen the rain? I want to know – have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?_"

As she sings, she becomes a little more sure of herself and why she chose this particular song. "_Yesterday and days before, sun is cold and rain is hard – I know. Been that way for all my time._"

The rest of the choir room begins to fade away and this is about _her._ She gets to be selfish for a little while.

"'_Til forever, on it goes. Through the circle, fast and slow – I know. It can't stop, I wonder._ _I want to know – have you ever seen the rain? I want to know – have you ever seen the rain? Coming down, on a sunny day..._"

The song ends and Quinn sees the others clapping and smiling at her. She smiles back, not really relieved from anything. She knows she did well, though, and for now, that's enough.

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**A/N: The song was "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Leave a review!**


	3. Artie

**A/N: Wow, I seem to be updating quickly...

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_Artie_

The number one misconception that people have when they think about Artie's paralysis is that he can't feel anything. That's not true. He can. Because of the way his spine was broken, some nerve signals still make it through to his brain, and so his legs tingle _all the time_. At first the pins-and-needles sensation drove him insane, but now he barely notices it any more. It's like radio static.

Because of this, he's learned to treat the things people said about him with the same attitude that he had towards his 'static'. He just ignores it because he doesn't have any other choice. When someone's bullying one of his friends, he's more than willing to stand up for them and fight it, but if it's directed at him, he just takes it because he knows it'll go easier for him that way. He has a set list of responses to each possible situation. Karofsky pushes him down the stairs? Calmly call the nurse (who's on speed dial) and wait for her to come help him back into his chair, which has rolled down to the lower floor. Tina tells him he's undesirable? Watch her walk away. Mercedes calls him a nerd? Laugh it off, or possibly make a joking remark right back at her.

It's getting a bit boring, really.

Artie's physiotherapist is a young guy about Mr. Schuester's age called Dr. Walker, but he tells Artie to call him Evan. He has a piercing in one ear and a tattoo on his arm and a cool haircut. Artie likes him.

It's during one of his Saturday morning sessions with Evan that Artie suddenly asks if he's a cool person, blurting the question out before he really knows what he's saying. Evan glances up in surprise. "Are you kidding?" he says. "You're one of the coolest guys I know, dude."

It would have had more of a positive effect if it hadn't sounded a little like Evan was talking to a ten-year-old.

"Why do you ask?"

Artie shrugs, not really sure himself. "I dunno, I've just… been having a bad week."

Evan takes this in stride and goes back to his work, massaging Artie's legs to warm up the muscles before they begin the real exercise. For a minute, Artie thinks he's not going to say anything more, but then Evan asks, "Anything bad in particular or you just been feeling kinda low?"

Artie shrugs again. Another one of his standard responses. "Just kinda low, I guess."

"Why?" Evan asks, his fingers working over Artie's deadened appendages. "You've got a hot girlfriend, great friends… You're passionate about things and you're damn talented to boot."

The compliment doesn't have much of an effect on Artie's mood. "I am in a wheelchair, though," he counters (automatically).

Evan shrugs. "And? Plenty of paraplegics make it big time in any number of jobs."

Artie sighs. "I want to be a dancer," he says quietly, completely surprised at himself for sharing that particular bit of information.

"What, you never heard of AXIS?"

_That_ was unexpected. He'd been ready for Evan to get a sympathetic look on his face, then tell Artie gently that not all dreams could be reached or something of the like, and then ask if he wanted a hug or something. Artie frowns. "What's AXIS?"

Evan _laughs_. "Dude! If you want to be a dancer, then AXIS is totally your thing! Don't you get _New Mobility_?"

"No." _New Mobility_ was a monthly magazine published for people dealing with varying degrees of paralysis, but Artie had never wanted to subscribe for some reason. Maybe he'd just been ignoring it.

Evan chuckles again and hands him a _New Mobility _issue from the table to the left of the exam bed. Artie stares at the cover. "'Physically integrated dance'?" he reads.

"Seriously, dude, you gotta keep up-to-date on these things," Evan says. "It's a professional dance group made up of able-bodieds and paras."

"Really?" Artie's still staring at the picture – there's two people locked in a passionate dance pose, and even though he can see the wheelchair, it's hard to tell which one of them is sitting in it.

"Listen, Artie," Evan says. "I know that this stuff sucks. And this is gonna sound really cheesy, but nothing's impossible, dude. You're not gonna find these opportunities if you don't buck up and look for them. If you want to dance, then do some research, find out where you can go, and _do it._ I meant what I said, dude – you're really cool. But you're also really negative, and that's not gonna get you anywhere."

Artie is quiet as he absorbs all this, just staring at the picture as Evan goes back to work on his legs. He starts reading the article on physically integrated dance and finds out that there's like a _ton_ of different groups with dancers of varying ability (okay, not a _ton_, but enough to be incredibly cool), and he starts to feel hopeful. Maybe Tina had been right to tell him to not give up.

"Can I keep this?" he asks Evan, holding up the magazine.

"Sure thing, dude."

* * *

At Glee practice on Tuesday, Artie pays minimal attention to the other performances, since his head is still reeling with all the research he's done over the weekend. He's imagining himself maybe ten years down the line as a professional dancer when Mr. Schue calls on him to stand (er, roll) up and sing.

Artie impulsively does a little spin as he's taking his place, making several of the Gleeks chuckle. As the band begins the music, he sees several of them quirk their eyebrows at the upbeat country riffs. "_Well, it was 'bout five to five on Friday, and we're all getting ready to go,_" he began to belt immediately, dancing with his arms. "_And the boss man started screaming, and his veins began to show! He said you and you come with me, 'cause you're gonna have to stay!_ _My heart was thumping and I was jumping – I had to get away…_"

As he starts into the chorus, a couple of the others whoop and laugh as he improvises his own choreography of loops, spins, wheelies, and one-wheel turns, all the while belting, "_Some days, you gotta dance! Live it up when you get the chance! 'Cause when the world doesn't make no sense and you're feeling just a little to tense, you gotta loosen up those chains and dance!_"

He spins around on one wheel and comes down to face Brittany. "_Well, I was talking with my baby, over a small glass of tea—_" He winks at her and she giggles and claps. "—_and she asked the loaded question; she said, 'How do you feel about me?' My mind was racing and I was pacing, but the word just wouldn't come, and there was only one thing left to do – I feel it coming on…_"

He rolls backwards into a quick double-spin. The whole club is clapping now. "_Some days you gotta dance! Live it up when you get the chance! 'Cause when the world doesn't make no sense and you're feeling just a little too tense, you gotta loosen up those chains and dance! Come on, loosen up those chains and dance!_"

He ends the song in a half-wheelie, landing back on his safety wheels as the club erupts into applause and even Puck whistles. He gives a grin, and it's not automatic.

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**A/N: The _NM_ issue referred to in this chapter is a real issue of _New Mobility_ from last summer with an extensive article on physically integrated dance. I wanted to include it because I thought it was a little odd when dance was deemed completely impossible for Artie.**

**The song was "Some Days You Gotta Dance" by the Dixie Chicks. Leave a review!  
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	4. Puck

**A/N: Okay, so...naming Artie's physiotherapist Dr. Walker? Totally not intentional. Oops?

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_Puck_

Puck's really not that much of a hardass.

There's actually a lot of things about him that kids at school don't know, and Finn only knows a few of them. For one, he's asthmatic and he needs to have an inhaler in his pocket at all times (Finn has no knowledge of this – the only people who do are his mom, his sister, and the school nurse). Second, he's a _total_ Harry Potter nerd and he sort of fancies himself as a Sirius Black-type character (this, Finn does know). Third, he's an awesome babysitter – he has to be, since his sister is almost ten years younger than him and his mom's either too busy or too drunk to do her mom-duties – and he's good at cooking and that kind of shit. Fourth, he's a _fantastic _storyteller, and fifth, he's really sort of a mama's boy.

He's not all that sure how exactly he came to have a reputation for the school bad boy; it was really something that just sort of happened. He's not gonna lie, though – he likes it. He likes the attention and he likes that people tend to give him what he wants. He likes the fact that if he's ever in the mood to hit something (which is a mood he's in a _lot_, given that his mom's an alcoholic and his dad kind of doesn't exist), people aren't surprised when he goes and beats the crap out of someone at the bottom of the food chain.

It's more than a little convenient.

At home, with just his mom and sister in the house, Puck tends to lose a lot of who he is at school. Which is weird, because he doesn't usually like being home, especially since his mom has a new boyfriend. But because his mom's occupied with said boyfriend, it means that Puck needs to be home more often to take care of his sister. And this is where the awesome babysitting skills come in.

It's one of these afternoons when he's fallen asleep on the couch and is woken up by Sarah jumping on him. "Holy shit," he groans, still half-asleep. "You're like a sack of potatoes."

"No_ah_," she whines, prodding him. "Wake _up_."

He sighs, his eyes still closed. "What do you want?" he slurs.

"You fell asleep in the middle of Parcheesi," Sarah tells him matter-of-factly.

Through his sleepy daze, he remembers blacking out in the middle of the game. He's been _exhausted_ by shit lately, but he's got no idea why. He also has no idea how he ended up horizontal if he's only been asleep for a minute or so. "How long've I been out?" he slurs.

"Three hours."

He finally forces himself to open his eyes and look at her. "Three hours?" he repeats, a little more coherently.

Sarah nods, sitting on his hip. She's getting heavy. "Yeah, you looked tired so I didn't wake you up," she explains. "I made you a bracelet."

He raises his eyebrows. "Another one?"

"Uh-huh." She hands him a little circle of knotted thread. She's actually really good at making bracelets and stuff, and this one's no exception. It's green and blue and white and black, with a streak of yellow.

"Cool." It actually is.

"Put it on," she orders, grabbing his wrist and sliding the bracelet onto it. She's made him a ton of bracelets before so she knows his size exactly. She doesn't ask him if he likes it.

"You wanna finish Parcheesi?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Nah, I put it away."

"Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs with Rick. I think they're having sex."

Puck grimaces at that mental picture. "Ew, Sar. Don't talk about shit like that." He finally sits up, raking his fingers through his mohawk. "You hungry?"

He makes macaroni and cheese for the two of them and they're sitting at the table eating it when Rick wanders into the kitchen. "Hey, kid, where's the beer?" he asks Puck.

"In the fridge, dumbass."

"Watch it." Rick goes over to the fridge and pulls out a cold one, popping the cap off with his teeth. "So what have you and the squirt been up to?" He winks at Sarah and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"The usual," Puck says. He doesn't like talking to Rick. The guy rubs him the wrong way for some reason, but he's seventeen, so what say does he have?

"We played Parcheesi, but Noah fell asleep," Sarah says.

Rick nods disinterestedly. "You finish your homework?"

"Not yet. I didn't get the math homework so Noah's helping me with it later."

Rick chuckles, and Puck can feel his defenses go up immediately. "What are you, retarded?" he says to Sarah. "You're, what, third grade and you don't get your adding and shit?"

In the blink of an eye, Puck bristles and he's on his feet. "Don't call her that," he snarls.

"Like what?"

"Oh, _now_ who's retarded?"

Rick's eyes harden. He points a warning finger at Puck. "Watch it, kid."

Puck's nostrils flare in anger. "Get out."

"Beg pardon?"

"I said get out. You can't talk to my sister like that and get away with it, asshole."

Rick scoffs. "Yeah? And what are you gonna do? You're a fucking brat just like your sister."

Puck's lip curls and his fists clench. He may be a brat like his sister, but he's got muscles, damn it, and at the very least he can look intimidating. "_Get. Out._" he repeats.

"You can't just ask me to leave, kid."

"I ain't asking."

"Well, I ain't leaving," Rick says, taking a gulp of his beer like this is no big deal.

Puck debates his choices. He could punch Rick in the nose, like he really, _really_ wants to do, or he could let it go. After all, it wasn't the first time Rick had called Sarah names. But damn it, he wanted it to be the last.

"Noah?" Sarah says, and he glances at her. She's crying a little and she's scared of what he'll do. Puck sighs and backs down.

"Thought so," smirks Rick.

* * *

When Mr. Schue calls on Puck to perform, Puck stands up with his guitar and sits on a stool. He's wearing the new bracelet Sarah made him in addition to his old one, but he doubts the Gleeks notice this. He takes a few moments to get comfortable, then begins to strum a smooth, rhythmic melody from the strings. He draws a breath and begins.

"_Well, we had to pull on something, so we're grabbing at the threads,_" he sings, not letting himself look at his small audience and keeping his eyes on his fingers as they work. "_And now the world's unraveling inside our very hands. Glasses smeared with lipstick, hungry eyes out in the street. Same old bodies moving to the same old beat – have to draw the line. Have to draw the line._"

Puck's not really sure why he's performing this song, but it seemed right so he's just going with it.

"_All this talk can hypnotize you, and we can ill afford to give ourselves to sentiment when our time is oh so short._" He studies the tiny knots in his bracelet as his left hand holds down the strings on the guitar's neck. "_Names beneath the lichen on these cemetery stones. Carnivals of silverfish waiting to dance upon our bones – have to draw the line! Help me draw the line!_"

His voice grows stronger as he reaches the song's bridge, still keeping his eyes on his bracelet though he doesn't know why he's staring at it. "_I've been doubting yours, baby. I've been doubting mine. I've been out of circulation where the sun don't shine. I've been doubting fame and wealth, charity, even love itself – draw the line._"

For some reason, at that moment he remembers Rick's expression when he told Puck that he wasn't going anywhere. It curdles his blood and makes him sing with fury underlining his words. "_I ain't saying he's bad, baby. I ain't saying he's good. Merely that he ain't so different, 'neath his executioner's hood. In the name of liberty, in the name of brotherhood – have to draw the line, have to draw the line._"

He plays the strings with more force now, every name that Rick has called him and Sarah for the past year and a half flowing through his head and feeding his voice. "_Need to take some pride, baby. Need to take some heart. Need to take evasive action when the rumpus starts. Here we are buck naked, yeah, but where do we begin when it's not the flesh we're after but the howling ghost within? Have to draw the line! Help me draw the line!_"

The song ends abruptly and Puck barely registers that the class is applauding. He realizes he's decided that when he goes home this afternoon, he's kicking Rick out once and for all. He fiddles with his bracelet as he takes his seat again.

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**A/N: The song was "Draw The Line" by David Gray.**

**Quick sidenote: when I said in the first paragraph that Puck has asthma, that's because I posted a oneshot about this titled _Inhale_ a while ago and now it's sort of part of my headcanon. I couldn't help including it... Leave a review!  
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